


think I might forget (gonna write it down)

by blackberry_jam



Series: The Losers Club Character Studies [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Bev remembers what she saw in the deadlights, Beverly Marsh in the Deadlights, Beverly Marsh-centric, Fix-It, Other, The Deadlights, honestly just fuck canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:34:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26948305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackberry_jam/pseuds/blackberry_jam
Summary: She starts to write things down. Everything she can remember. The things she saw in the deadlights, and things she can remember from that summer. She buys herself journal after journal, recording each and every detail from That Summer and the visions. She starts to have dreams. Dreams where they die horribly. She writes them down, too.
Relationships: Beverly Marsh & Everyone, The Losers Club - Relationship
Series: The Losers Club Character Studies [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2003953
Kudos: 9





	think I might forget (gonna write it down)

**Author's Note:**

> enjoy this very unreliable, written a little bit late and a little bit quickly, bev character study and a what-if i thought of while lying in bed last night.
> 
> excuse the bits that don’t make sense, please and thank you
> 
> title from ‘sister of pearl’ by baio.
> 
> yell at me on tumblr - @blqckberryjam

Beverly Marsh is only thirteen years old when her whole life is flipped upside down.

She's lived in Derry her whole life and knows how to get through a day. Wake up early, dress and leave to avoid her father, mind her own business and keep her head down at school, smoke the stolen cigarettes in the bathrooms during the lunch break, avoid Greta Bowie at all costs. It's not fun, by anyone's standards, but it keeps her safe and is easy to follow. 

Never in Beverly’s very well rehearsed weeks had making friends come up. She was known around the school as a ‘slut’. The cigarette stains on her sleeves and the fact that she spent all her time on her own, not to mention the rumors about her home life were enough to convince the student population. She's only kissed one boy, really, and it was in the school play. She doesn't think it should count.

She's not even sure why Greta and Sally Mueller and Betty Ripsom and all those girls don't like her. Yes, she does live in the scummy part of town and most of her clothes are either hand-me-downs or from the thrift store along the edges of town, but she also made some of them, using secondhand fabric and her mum’s old singer sewing machine. And yes, it's true, her friend count is roughly at zero, but that's only because the girls in her grade are just like Greta and Sally and Betty, with their perfect boyfriends and perfect clothes and perfect home lives.

**———**

The summer holidays are Beverly Marsh’s least favorite time of the year. Yes, thank you very much, she realizes that normal children hold their breath as they wait for the break to arrive, and yes, normal children would do anything to get off school for a couple of weeks. But maybe she's not normal.

If she was normal, maybe she wouldn't dread to spend time in her own home, however small and dirty it may be.

If she was normal, maybe she wouldn't have to slink around the house, avoiding her own father at any cost.

If she was normal, maybe she'd have friends, some girlfriends to hang around, and maybe Greta Bowie would finally leave her alone.

Hell, if she was normal, maybe her mum would still be alive and her own father wouldn't blame her for her death.

School is horrible, but at least she has a place to be, something to fill her days with. 

**———**

On the second day of the summer holidays, 1988, she at least had something to do. It comes in an unwelcome stream of blood, but now she's got something to keep her mind busy, keep herself busy.

Quick visit to Keene’s pharmacy, and then maybe she’ll buy herself a milkshake before heading home.

Simple in theory, less simple in practice.

Browsing the shelves of the chemist, she peers at each box, decorated with flowers and splashes of water and happy women, before snatching up the one with the simplest design. It’d have to do.

That's the simple part.

It's when she makes her way to the counter, quickly, head down, that's a little bit harder.

She forgot to account for disruptions.

Today’s disruption comes in the form of three boys, that she recognizes from school, just not enough to know their names. One has blonde-brown curls, polo shirt buttoned all the way up and neatly tucked into his shorts. Worlds tiniest adult, her brain supplies. The second is quite a bit shorter, darker hair and arms laden with medical supplies. The third and final had auburn hair, and a plain tee-shirt. She's seen them around before.

She shoves the box behind her back as soon as she sees them, peering at the medical supplies. Boxes of adhesive plasters and Dettol antiseptic.

“What are you doing?” She asks, peering over at them.

All three of them look up startled. “None of your business.” Tall and Curly says, at the same time as the shortest one blurts: “there's a kid outside who looks like someone killed him.”

Tall and Curly shoots the shorter one a look, and he winces, apologetically as the third stammers out an explanation.

They've got no money.

Bev sighs, tells them she'll handle it and stalks towards the desk. Placing the box of tampons on the counter, she smiles, fiddling with her hair and inwardly swallowing down the bile that had begun to rise in her throat.

She tries not to run when she tries on the glasses, and asks him how they look. Tries not to throw up when he makes his comment. Tries not to laugh as she knocks over the stand and grabs a pack of cigarettes as soon as his back is turned.

Out again, in the alley between the chemist and the butchers, she goes to find the so-called dead kid. 

It's Ben, from soc class and he’s not actually dead. Just beaten up, badly.

She makes a few comments, makes him smile at her  _ New Kids on the Block  _ reference and leaves, but not before she’s invited to go and play in the Barrens with them.

And that's where it starts, at the quarry, splashing around in the dirty water, playing chicken fight and then water fight, pushing each other under again and again before climbing out to rest on the sandy gravel under the dying sun. 

It starts there and, unbeknownst to all of them, it will end 27 years later, one way or another.

From the quarry, to the Barrens and to the blood in her sink. From Bill’s stubbornness to the Derry parade and Silver and eating soft-serve ice cream in the melting heat. To the rock fight with Henry Bowers and his goons. From meeting Mike and building the clubhouse to Neibolt Street and Eddie’s broken arm. From Bill and Richie’s fight and the temporary disbanding of the Losers Club to her father to the clown to the sewers to the lights.

The lights, the lights, the lights.

The deadlights.

She was going to be okay, she wasn’t scared - it couldn’t harm her. Her friends were coming and she was going to be okay—

It snarled at her, It’s face cracking open, unnaturally, with a sound of ripping skin. It peeled back, revealing row after row of sharp, yellowing teeth. The inside of Its throat was a blood stained red. Right at the very back, further than should reach, were three glowing lights, glowing orbs, and Bev made the mistake of looking right at them, her eyes flitting towards them, drawn like moths to a flame.

The images came quick, a highlight reel, flashing through her vision. One after the other,

...A woman, red, shoulder length hair, waking in the night to a phone call. Sitting in the window, curled in an armchair, silk looking dressing gown hanging off her shoulders, simple floral design. Talking quickly, a stressed and confused look on her face.  _ hey, bev,  _ the voice on the other end said.  _ it’s mike. from derry.  _ It was her. Older-Bev hanging up the phone, shoving clothes desperately into a bag. Husband,  _ i have to go,  _ she said. He didn’t like that, hit and hit and hit and she hit him and SLAM, smashed over his head. She’s gone, running down the stairs, husband calling after her,  _ you’re nothing without me! nothing.  _ His words echo as the scene changes...

...Man, driving in a car, fancy and black. Phone call through the car? On the phone to his mother, no, his wife. Hangs up quickly, not interested in a conversation, obvious discomfort. Incoming call, Derry.  _ hi, eddie,  _ Eddie?,  _ it’s mike, from derry.  _ Hit the brakes, smash, crash, dent in the side of the fancy black car. The crash of the car echoes through her head...

...Another man, tapping on keys, a small computer. Knocking on the door.  _ mr denbrough?  _ Denbrough, it’s Bill. Across the asphalt car park, into a large shed. A woman, and she looks similar to her older self… same red hair… blood stained dress,  _ we need an ending.  _ It’s fake blood, they’re filming a movie. Crunch of celery.  _ fuck you, bill.  _ Back out into the sunshine, wincing and shaking hand.  _ bill? it’s mike, from derry.  _ The sunlight fades into the fluorescent lighting of a meeting room...

...Meeting room, business men and women, dressed in suits, lining the room up and down a long table. Facing a big screen. A man, talking through it. A video? A television show? No, it seemed to be… live? Talking architecture. Distraction — flicks open wallet, small, neat writing  **beverly** with a love heart. Her name, she wrote that. Signed it in Ben’s yearbook… Ben? Phone rings.  _ it’s mike. from derry.  _ The darkness fading into a hazy winters day...

...Vomit, over the edge of a balcony. Focusing back, another man, thick glasses.  _ you okay, rich?  _ Richie? Phone in hand, Bev doesn’t need to hear it to know he’s just been called too. Nodding, back through the corridor, the shorter man following behind. Glass pressed into his hands, taken away again, shaking hands. Packed theatre, bright lights.  _ i forgot the joke.  _ The theatre fades into a lounge room...

...Puzzle, birds. Another man, woman in the background. On a computer, talking. Holiday plans.  _ why not, it’s summer.  _ Phone buzzes.  _ stan? it’s mike, from derry.  _ Stan. His face contorts.  _ it’s back, isn’t it?  _ Bev gasps. Scene change - bathroom. Clothes folded neatly.  _ i swear, bill.  _ Bev knows what’s happening before it happens. She cries out, but to no avail. Blood. Drip-drip-dripping onto the tiles. Oh, god, Stan...

...reunions, restaurant. Bill’s an author, they’re making a movie, and he’s married. Ben’s a famous architect. She’s a fashion designer, big brand, apparently. Richie is a comedian and Eddie’s a risk analyst, he!s married, too. Mike stayed in Derry, researching, waiting. It’s in the fortune cookies, they crack and produce unseen horrors…

...they know Stan’s dead, his wife’s distraught. The split up. Planning to leave…

...she knows what happens, she’s seen it before. She’s scared…

…typical day in the clubhouse. She remembers it, from about a month ago. Eddie broke the paddle-ball and fought with Richie in the hammock.  _ do you think we’ll be friends forever?  _ Stan.  _ of course.  _ Her past self says, but she knows better now...

...tokens, one each, special to them. They have to go by themselves, but they find something for Stan together, the shower caps he had so carefully chosen...

...Bill’s at a shop, elderly shopkeeper. Silver’s in the window.  _ 300 dollars,  _ the shopkeeper says. He buys it. Back in the street, his old house. Voices from the sewer. He moves towards it, and Bev tries to shout at him to stop! Stop! It, tricks and illusions. It’s Georgie, and all the dead children at once. He barely gets out alive, boat in hand. Flashback, young Bill, shouting and crying at the sewer grate. Back to the present, or future? A child in the street, he moves towards him and the vision shakes, turning blurry and disappearing…

...Richie’s in the abandoned arcade, watching through the broken glass of  _ Street Fighter.  _ Younger Richie is there, smashing violently on the buttons and yanking on the console. He’s playing with someone, a Bowers-like haircut. The boy turns to leave.  _ wait,  _ Richie says, haltingly,  _ we can play another game? i-if you want?  _ The boy is disgusted. Bowers enters through the back.  _ i’m not your fucking boyfriend.  _ The boy is Bowers’ cousin.  _ get out of here, faggot!  _ Bowers shouts, and Richie!s gone. Through the door and out. Older Richie takes a coin from the machine. No Cash Value. He’s in the park, and the clowns there.  _ you wouldn’t want people to know your dirty little secret.  _ Bev thinks she already knows…

...Ben goes to the school. Young Ben is sitting in class, and she’s there too. And they talk, it’s sweet, but Bev can’t remember it happening. Maybe it’ll happen soon? Something changes, Ben leans in, as if to kiss her and the vision of herself leans back, a sinister smile on her face.  _ i meant as a friend, as if i’d want to kiss you.  _ She tries to shout that it’s not real, that it can’t be real. But before she can, not that he’s be able to hear her, anyway, the vision of herself catches on fire, chasing him down the corridor…

...she watches herself arrive at her old home. Fingers crossed and breath held, knocking. The door opens, an old woman.  _ al marsh?  _ he’s dead. Her fathers dead, and she doesn’t feel one bit sorry. They talk, tea, cake. Older Bev finds the postcard. Your hair is winter fire / January embers / my heart burns there too. Something off with the woman, and then suddenly she’s It. And her older self is running, her hearts in her throat and then it fades...

…Eddie’s at the chemist. Mr Keene’s still there. He’s getting his aspirator. Young Eddie, teased by Greta, enters the basement. It’s horrifying, his mother’s belted to a post, something wrapped in a sheet edges it’s towards them, a metallic clanging the whole way. It’s too hard, and young Eddie runs, leaving his mother to shriek after him,  _ i knew you’d leave me, eddie!  _ Older Eddie makes his way down, and a leper, the same one from his childhood, lunges out of nowhere. He almost beats it, and Bev holds her breath, before something changes, a switch is flicked, and from the leper’s mouth spews a mixture of grey…

…Bowers escapes an asylum, he’s in the hotel and Eddie’s been stabbed.  _ cut that fucking mullet… _

_ the scenes start to change faster and faster, quick bursts, like a broken record player. _

...young Richie, carving R + E on the kissing bridge, glancing over his shoulder as if he’ll be spotted...

...Stan’s bar mitzvah,  _ i’m a loser and i always fucking will be… _

…Greta, scrawling on Eddie’s cast, a crestfallen expression on his face…

And then they’re older, flashing faster and faster.

… down in the sewers again,  _ you’re braver than you believe… _

…  _ this kills monsters, if you believe it does… _

…  _ yippe kayee mother—… _

_ … bev! i love you!... _

… Eddie, impaled, blood everywhere, laughing weakly in Richie’s arms…

… you’re just a clown! clown! mimic!...

And then it stops, she’s back in the present, panting and gasping for breath.

**———**

They defeat it, quickly, and scramble back to the surface, out of the dirty sewers and into the sunlight. They’re alive, and safe.

A few days later, they meet again. Freshly scrubbed skin and thoroughly washed hair, in the Barrens. Bill smashes a bottle, lying in the weeds, and cuts each of their hands. They stand in a circle, hands clasped. A blood oath. If It ever comes back, they’ll come back. To kill It for good.

(If she has her first proper kiss then it’s no ones business)

And then she’s moving to Portland, to live with her aunt. It’s a good thing, she’ll be safe from her father, but it’s a bad thing. She’ll have to leave her friends.

**———**

She starts to forget. She’s not sure why, or how, but one day she wakes up and can’t remember the name of the seventh member of their group.  _ Stan, dammit! _

Three days later, and she’s forgotten why Bill was always made fun of at school.

By the next week, she can’t remember the second letter Richie carved into the kissing bridge, R + ?

She starts to write things down. Everything she can remember. The things she saw in the deadlights, and things she can remember from that summer. She buys herself journal after journal, recording each and every detail from That Summer and the visions. She starts to have dreams. Dreams where they die horribly. She writes them down, too.

  
  


**_14th September, 1990_ **

_ richie - heart attack. (older, 30-35yrs) _

_ deadlights - stan kills himself (2016). DON’T LET MIKE CALL HIM! _

  
  


**_6th October, 1990_ **

_ mike - drowned (20-30yrs) _

_ eddie had asthma, _ _ his mum tricked him - placebo pills _

  
  


**_29th January, 1991_ **

_ bill - cancer (40-45yrs) _

_ note - DO NOT MARRY TOM ROGAN _

  
  


**_5th August, 1995_ **

_ ben - freak explosion (15-20yrs) _

__

_ richie wrote r+e on the kissing bridge- eddie? _

  
  


**_30th June, 1996_ **

_ eddie- car accident (30-40ys) _

_ henry bowers killed his father _

  
  


**_8th July, 1998_ **

_ me - bridge collapse (30-35yrs) _

_ eddie is killed by it - richie gets stuck in the deadlights  _

  
  


**_27th February, 2000_ **

_ stan - poison (foul play? - 40-45yrs) _

_ the ritual of chüd is bullshit, bully the clown to death _

  
  


They all die, in various different ways. Each of them is more horrific than the last. She wakes screaming, and crying, her throat raw and face sweaty, most mornings. 

**———**

The days pass, and she follows her notes. She still goes to college, studies fashion and business. Soon, she learns enough to start her own business. Marsh Fashion. She doesn’t engage with Tom Rogan’s advances when they meet at a convention. As the days count down to the 27th anniversary from That Summer, she remembers whilst she’s almost sure that the other’s won’t remember anything. She writes out a letter, and mails it, two weeks before, to ensure it won’t be lost. She sends a second copy one, just in case the first was lost.

  
  


_ Mike Hanlon _

_ Derry, Maine.  _

_ Dear Mike, _

_ This is based purely on the assumption that what I saw in the deadlights was true, and not a hallucination or a trick, a final trick by that stupid fucking clown. If it was all fake, here’s a quick reminder. _

_ It’s me, Beverly Marsh. In 1989, I was pretty short, first red hair and I smoked a lot. I still do. We met when Henry Bowers was beating you up, we threw rocks, remember? If you don’t, I’m sorry for what I have to tell you. _

_ When I got stuck in the deadlights, 27 years ago, it might have only been for a few minutes, I have no idea, but what I saw felt like a lifetime. I watched us grow up, and I remember seeing you at the farm with the bolt gun. Remember the bolt gun? We thought we killed It with it.  _

_ If you remember, you’ll know this isn’t true. I know, at least I hope I know, that in a few days you are going to call all of us back to stop It.  _

_ I’m telling you now, that it works. We kill It. But, not before Stan and Eddie die.  _

_ DO NOT CALL STANLEY URIS, OR I WILL HUNT YOU DOWN AND KILL YOU.  _

_ Stan gets the call and kills himself. He can’t face It again, and we can do it without him. _

_ Eddie dies while we’re under Neibolt for the second time. It pretends to be dead, and then impales him. _

_ Also, while we’re at it. The ritual of Chüd is bullshit. All we need to do to kill It is to bully it to death. Call it a clown, mimic, reveal Its many faces.  _

_ WHILE WE ARE UNDER NEIBOLT WE NEED TO WATCH OUR BACKS, AND EACH OTHERS.  _

_ Hopefully you receive this in time, and I’m praying you remember. _

_ Love, your old friend, Bev. _

  
  
  


She waits, nervously, as she counts down to the day it finally happens. 

Her phone buzzes. Incoming Call, Derry Maine.

“Hey, Bev?” The voice is crackly and unfamiliar, yet familiar at the same time. “It’s Mike, from Derry. I got your letter.”

Bev breathes a sigh of relief.

  
  
  



End file.
